


Dwelling On Mold

by KelpietheThundergod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean has anxiety, Dean-Centric, Episode: s13e05 Advanced Thanatology, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Panic Attack, Self-Medication, episode coda, the tag for suicide does not mean MCD - just a warning for the headspace dean is in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 08:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12745053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: A couple miles down the road, Dean cranks up the heat. Sam shoots him a look. It's May; they don't need heating. Except, when you die, and you get send back, the cold lingers for a while. Dean's body knows he's been dead, like he's been dead a gazillion times over.A/N: This takes place while they're driving home but before Dean gets the call from Cas





	Dwelling On Mold

 

 

_be we to the Infant true_

_while we are dwelling on mold_

_and He will give us our wages due_

_a crown of purest gold_

 

 

 

It's a sharp, cold pain. Spreading through his chest, punching the breath out of him. Slowing his heart. The world shifts, his eyes close. And for a couple blessed seconds, it's dark, and darker, and silent, and finally, finally calm.

>

A couple miles down the road, Dean cranks up the heat. Sam shoots him a look. It's May; they don't need heating. Except, when you die, and you get send back, the cold lingers for a while. Dean's body knows he's been dead, like he's been dead a gazillion times over.

Some alpha male asshole with an overpriced Jeep is crowding too close to Baby. Dean signals, switches lanes, lets him pass. He's not driving slow exactly, but—ain't like there's anything to get back to.

His chest throbs.

Dean swallowed a painkiller dry before getting into the car, plus a little something extra to keep him awake. Sam is asleep already. At some point, Dean may hallucinate sheep again, but who the fuck cares. Sleep doesn't help. It's more cruel than anything, because it's never long enough, never deep enough, and the _things_ he sees—and then he's got to get up again and it's just more of the same. Do the job, take care of Sam. Resist his stupid maternal urge that says take care of Jack too, while everything else in Dean screams no, _not again._ I can't. Stop pushing me.

There's fog outside, because of course there is. Dean stares straight ahead at the road, measures his breathing. The last fucking thing he needs is to think of when he first met Amara, and how _weak_ he was for her promise of something more final and more peaceful than death. An end to having to find ways to cope with living, because that's all he can do to stay alive. No Heaven made off of Memorex, but a calm and empty nothing.

>

_But I say—keep living._

Maybe Death doesn't know everything, but she sure knows Dean is scared. Not that she cares, why should she. He's just a tiny screw in a gigantic multidimensional machine. Dust in the wind. While that used to be a comfort, now the fear of what keep living means would make Dean beg if he thought it'd work: Please no. I can't. I'm tired.

The next time he dies, he probably will beg. And the one after, and the one after that. But as long as there's the job, she won't care. She'll send him back. The job is forever. It won't ever stop.

>

Dean remembers being very small and watching old black and white movies on a moldy couch. Sammy is sleeping in his arms. He's so heavy, too heavy, but baby Sam would scream for Dean instead of sleep if he put him down.

Dean is waiting for Dad.

The movie is difficult to understand, but Dean can't switch the channel. The remote is on the table, and reaching for it would jostle Sammy, and he'd wake and be upset.

In the movie, every time something exciting or bad happens, all the adults immediately start to smoke—if they aren't already smoking. And drink, if they aren't already drinking. Dean is maybe five but he knows what booze is. His Dad needs it, “to calm down”, he says. Dean finds that strange because drinking makes Dad angry and sad instead of calm. He worries about his Dad.

Sammy gurgles in his sleep, and Dean rocks him a little. His arms ache. His nose itches. It's the mold, Dad said. He's still not back.

On the TV, a woman falls over to the floor. She doesn't move. Men rush to her, sit her up. Her thin dress slips off her shoulders with the movement. The men hold something under her nose, and as soon as her eyes flutter open, they hold a glass of booze to her mouth, tip it down her throat.

>

Dean knows the signs, feels the panic attack coming early enough that he can signal and park the car on the shoulder. Then he's throwing his door open, plants his feet on the gravel, puts his head down. Pants, dry heaves, grips the edge of Baby's seat to anchor himself. There's rustling behind him, a confused “Dean?” Then the car creaking around them as Sam shifts closer, puts a hand between Dean's shoulder blades and rubs up and down a little. Even the rubbing feels confused. “Dean, hey!”

Dean shakes his head, gulps in a few deep breaths. It's not quite over, but Sam is turning him around by the shoulder, presses him back into his seat. He looks concerned, brows furrowed. Hand hovering over Dean's chest like Dean's about to bolt, or maybe like he needs CPR after all. Dean waves him off, “I got it, I got it.” Sam looks dubious, but backs off. Dean just breathes for a couple more seconds. The cold air from outside is starting to creep into the car, making him shiver. He rubs his chest, and, with a pained grimace, reaches over and slams the car door closed. Eases Baby back onto the road. They drive.

“You want something for the pain?”

Blaze of glory. That's what Dean's always said. Some big victory that'd make up for all the crap that's happened, for his own crippling weakness. But he's been lying—the greatest reward, at the end, would have been that he'd get to be done. That nothing would matter anymore.

So much for that.

“Dean?”

Sam nudges his shoulder. The plastic crinkles when Dean takes it, when he pops out a pill and swallows it down. Dean puts the radio on low, a soft rock station. Sam settles back into his seat, head leaned against the window. He's asleep in minutes. Dean's heart beats, and beats, and beats.

 

**Author's Note:**

> lyrics at the beginning are from [this song by loreena mckennitt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q5hWP5bbEzE)
> 
> find me on tumblr at [cuddlemonsterdean](http://cuddlemonsterdean.tumblr.com/)
> 
> i'm not a native speaker and this isn't beta read (because i wrote it today and wanted to post it before the new ep aired). if you find mistakes, please let me know!


End file.
